


let's get it on

by Tav



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), stony - Fandom
Genre: 19 pages later hah, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, Hotel Sex, M/M, Out of Character, Porn With Plot, Sex Tapes, Sexual Tension, i was really trying for a short saucy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: What do you do when you run into your boss who is also scrolling through the appalling gay porn selection at the DVD store on a Friday night? You go home with him and together you make your own, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [n/a](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=n%2Fa).



> Inspired by actual events…well not entirely…in a perfect world where one can write spin-offs of their lives, this would have happened (see end notes for overly long version of what really happened. Read at own risk hahaha)  
> Also, if there is any dancing involved in this story at all, I blame Tony Stark and Iron Man 3 and Christmas music for implanting such a saucy 3 second moment into my head that did nothing more to me than inspire porn.  
> All mistakes are my own. Happy reading   

Steve scowls at his friend, subtly peering under the table where Bucky has just nudged his thigh. 

It’s a badly drawn caricature of Mr. Stark being struck by lightning, a lot better than the one he’d drawn of Stark being eaten by a shark during their last boardroom meeting. Steve hides his chuckle behind his fist, feigning a cough. It isn’t due to Bucky’s poor sense of humor; it’s the look of accomplishment on his face that always cracks Steve up. The same mischief from years ago when they were being reprimanded by the principal for tugging Pepper Potts’ pigtails. 

“I’m sorry, Rogers, did I say something amusing?” 

Steve clears his throat and straightens. He’s fully aware of all eyes suddenly on him and off of Mr. Stark’s lighted projection of the project’s financial forecast in the front of the boardroom. He makes a mental note to kill Bucky later when he sees his friend giving him an equally disapproving look. 

“No, Mr. Stark.” 

“Oh,” Stark looks around himself, putting on a bewildered front, “because I was just talking about how we’re going to be able to push our revenue incalculably, I always find that thoroughly amusing.” 

“That is thoroughly amusing, Sir,” Steve nods keenly. 

“However,” Stark holds his chin thoughtfully, “I fail to see where lies the necessity for laughter.”

“There isn’t, Mr. Stark,” Steve supplies an answer when it becomes clear that Stark won’t continue without one. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

Stark holds Steve’s eyes and Steve is incapable of not shrinking under his boss’s attention. 

“May I continue, Rogers?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Steve allows unnecessarily and Stark does so, not before giving Steve one last look as if to thoroughly make certain that he has the go ahead. 

Thirty minutes later, Bucky is perched on the edge of Steve’s desk, tears sliding down his face as he tries desperately to calm his hysterics. 

“If you get me fired,” Steve sips his coffee, only barely resisting pouring it over his best friend’s lap, “you’re paying my rent.” 

“Relax,” Bucky sobers, “Stark won’t fire you. In fact, I think Starky has a thing for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, “annoyance.” 

“Say what you want,” Bucky shrugs, moving to his own cubicle, “but I’m always right about these things.” 

As annoying as Bucky is, the man has a point. He is always, almost ominously, correct when it comes to the art of throbbing loins. It was, in fact, Bucky who ‘outed’ Steve after what Steve had thought was thirty two years of the best straight-acting known to man. All it had taken was one look between Steve and hi-my-name-is-Peter, the pizza delivery guy, and by the time money had been exchanged and the door had been shut, Bucky’s eyes were wide. 

“You want to fuck that kid, don’t you,” Bucky had practically jumped on the couch in complete and utter delight, refusing to let Steve deny it. And the game on the television had been forgotten and the beers became warm and by midnight, Steve had confessed and cried and collapsed with his head on his best friend’s lap. The confession only making their friendship stronger, not ending it like Steve had tortured himself into believing it would. 

Even so, there is no way Bucky can be right about this one. 

Ever since Harold Stark announced his early retirement from Stark Industries and his son strolled into his place, it was painfully obvious to Steve that mini-Stark loathes him. 

Steve had been called into the office and found himself face to face with a very blasé looking Tony-soon to be boss. And Harold’s large hand had fallen heavily on Steve’s shoulder. 

“This,” Harold had beamed, wrinkles etching the corners of his eyes, “is my boy.”

“You must really be happy,” the smile looked misplaced on Tony’s face, “you’ve never called me that before.” 

“I was talking about Mr. Rogers here,” Harold had corrected without skipping a beat. Without noticing Tony’s eyes darken and narrow and fix solely on Steve as if they were the only two people in the entire 30-story building. “If you need anything at all, he’s your guy.” 

That’s what Harold had said. But what Tony had heard was: ‘This man is your bitch, make sure you give him ten times more work than everyone else and call him in on public holidays to do frivolous tasks that should’ve really been assigned to Sarah from Accounting. Also, don’t acknowledge his achievements and penalize him for his co-workers mistakes.” 

That was exactly a month ago to date.

Now, Steve is seething when a stack of folders are placed on his desk exactly ten minutes before he’s about to pack up and head out for TGIF drinks with the boys. 

“Could you be a sweetheart and have those punched into the system before you leave?” Stark says, sliding into a grey Armani jacket that compliments his tailored waistcoat and does nothing to hide how perfectly the dress pants incase his thighs. Steve scolds himself for noticing. “Some techy geeks will be in first thing tomorrow morning to integrate that data with some cutting-edge software that’s sure to change our lives, so please do make sure there are no errors.” 

Steve tries hard not to look over his boss’s shoulder, because Bucky is hanging himself with an imaginary noose in the next cubicle. 

“I’m sorry,” Stark straightens his collar, “do I have to speak slower, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head as if that will help clear it, “I’ll get it done.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes dramatically and shoots himself in the head with two fingers. He manages to duck behind the barricade just as Mr. Stark turns to see what has Steve so distracted. When Stark looks back at Steve its equivalent to a look that one would give a person caught defecating in the middle of an intersection during rush hour. 

But Stark is clearly not invested enough to examine the mental condition that he clearly thinks Steve is suffering from. He turns on his overpriced heel and makes his way to the elevator, paying next to no attention to the few employees brave enough to wish him a happy weekend. If the rumors are true, Stark probably has a pretty blonde thing waiting in the limo downstairs with Stark’s favorite brand of scotch in one hand and no panties on under her miniskirt. 

“You know,” Bucky hangs over the partition and Steve notices his friend is already all coated up and ready to bolt, just in case Stark comes back and makes him stay behind too – guilt by association. Stark has done it before. “He only does that to you because you let him.” 

“I let him, because he’s my boss,” Steve sighs and opens the first folder of far too many. “Have a stiff one for me,” Steve gives Bucky an impassive smile before turning to his monitor in a way he hopes lets Bucky know he needs to be left to it without coming off too discourteous.  
*****  
It isn’t like Steve is a stranger to the joys and ease of the internet, he’s just stubbornly old-fashioned. Steve often jokes about how he’d still be using a typewriter if it could email. So as much as Bucky tries to make Steve realize he is living in the 21st century, there are still certain routines that he refuses to shake off. 

This is why Steve is scanning the DVD selection behind the beaded door of the only Video store still standing in Brooklyn. Although his cap is low, his glasses are too big for his face and his hoodie is draped over his head, Steve still feels that same rush he’d felt the first time he’d rented gay porn all those years ago back when he was still in college. It’s the adrenaline rush that keeps him coming back. The sheer possibility of being caught. The tension that builds in the pit of his stomach as the clerk double-checks his choice before giving him a measuring look. As if picturing Steve watching the fireman on the cover fucking the police officer in said overly built man’s arms, hand speeding up and down his own cock. Exactly as Steve intends on spending what’s left of his Friday night. 

Steve rolls his eyes at the tackiness of the case in his hand, chuckling at the scantily dressed cowboys who apparently ‘find sweet, hot love in the barn’, when a presence looms over his shoulder. 

“That one is just plain terrible,” the familiar voice causes Steve to spin around so quickly that he nearly knocks down several DVD cases when trying to steady himself. “Just a lot of bad ranch puns and honestly, there is nothing appealing about getting a bunch of hay up your crack.”

“Mr. Stark?” Steve stammers out, barely believing the realization himself. More so when a complete look of confusion crosses the man in question’s face. 

“Stark?” he frowns, “I think you may have me confused with someone else. Now, this one here,” Steve’s boss ignores his astonishment, stepping into Steve’s personal space in a way that brings them chest to chest as he reaches past the blond man to pick a case off the shelf, “this one still makes me wanna salute the troops and sing Sweet Home Alabama.” 

Steve is well aware that he must look several shades stupider than Stark usually makes him out to be because his mind is fully incapable of catching up to anything when Stark is close enough for his spicy cologne to invade his senses. So intoxicating, even more confusing than the fact that Mr. Stark is standing in front of him in the gay section of a rundown video store in the middle of Brooklyn on a Friday night. His usual blue-blooded exterior is adorned in worn out blue jeans and a black jacket that smells of cheap leather, as damaged as his dark boots that too had seen better days. 

“It has a rather delightful twist at the end,” Tony pushes the DVD case against Steve’s chest, urging the blond man to take it, “the protagonist has absolutely no idea that he spent all weekend eating out his new boss’s ass until he walks into the office on Monday morning to find the company under new management.”

“Mr. Stark,” Steve utters out breathlessly, warningly. Because his boss’s hand is on his hip, lips against his ear and if ever there was a better way to get Harold to sack his own son, this was it. But Tony’s hand is on his hip and his lips are against his ear and Steve suddenly wants to hire something other than a stupid DVD.

“Who is this ‘Mr. Stark’ you mistake me for,” Tony lets his unshaven jaw glide across Steve’s as he slightly backs away, “he must be handsome.” 

Steve wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. As dizzy as he is he feels it might make him lose his balance because Tony’s closeness is making him a lot more than embarrassingly hard. Tony’s intentions seem clearer by the second. Tony’s game starts to make sense. And so Steve shocks himself by saying; “He’s a royal asshole.”

“Something tells me you like it,” his boss quips, smile vanishing. All authority returning with a hint of something Steve has never seen before. Complete and utter need. Want. Desire. 

Steve not only sees it in Stark’s eyes, he feels it pulsate against his thigh. He hates that he forgets to forget that his best friend is always right. He hates that he forgets all the horrible ways his boss has treated him. He hates himself for voicing the insane thoughts that suddenly hold way too much truth. 

“Maybe I do.” 

Tony sighs, a hint of relief in its texture. He pulls the case away from Steve who hadn’t even realized he was clutching it with white knuckles, fingernails denting plastic. 

“Truth be told,” Tony places the DVD back into its slot, “these are all rubbish. What do you say we ditch this place and go make our own?”


	2. Chapter 2

Of course Stark would take him to a shiny hotel. A really shiny, golden hotel with marble floors and high ceilings, complex patterns etched into everything. What Steve hadn’t expected was to get there on the back of a red and gold Harley Davidson Rocker. What Steve hadn’t expected was the receptionist to greet Steve by the name of Neil before handing him a keycard. 

Steve doesn’t have time to dwell on the fact that Tony has obviously done this before, possibly numerous times. He doesn’t have time to wonder if there really will be a ‘next time’ for him after telling Tony that he can ride bikes better and Tony laughing, saying he’d like to see that. Steve is still too busy reliving the feel of the motor vibrating up his legs, no space between his crotch and Tony’s bum as he clung to the man he wanted to throttle only hours before. The uptight, pain in the ass boss who was taking rebellious turns and ignoring warning lights with a laugh Steve had never heard before. A laugh Steve didn’t even know existed. 

And Steve’s wondering if Tony is slipping back into Stark mode as they ride up the elevator, because his boss is suddenly quiet and passive when he himself is itching to wrap his arms around the dark haired man again.

“Neil, huh?” Steve thinks out loud, because awkward silences often make him insane enough not to endure them. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, Neil,” Tony finally smiles again and offers Steve his hand before unsurely adding, “Patrick,” and then, “Harris.” 

Steve is so grateful that he doesn’t even have to try not to laugh because there is something about touching Tony again that has him incomprehensibly aroused. 

“Sean,” Steve offers as his thumb brushes over knuckles that have no right to be attractive,” William,” and the he too adds, “Scott.” 

And this time Tony does laugh and Steve can’t help but do the same, even though their hands are still clasped and his boss’s lips look so inviting in that curve that Steve can actually taste them. 

There’s a companionable silence for the rest of the ride up, even the short walk to the room. Steve is still relieved when Tony wastes no time opening large doors to a balcony as equally posh as the room itself before offering Steve a drink. 

“Whatever you’re having,” Steve says, not really wanting to think. Because if he does he will realize that he is in a hotel room in Manhattan on a Friday night with his boss who made it perfectly clear that he wants them to outdo every gay porno in Brooklyn. He instead steps out onto the balcony, wanting to get some fresh air into his tight lungs and the view into his muddled brain. But he only makes it two steps onto the deck before a hand is turning him around at the shoulder and strong arms are wrapping around his waist. Steve stumbles back until his lower back hits the railing, Stark’s lips over his the entire time. 

“Elevator-making-out is so archaic, isn’t it?” Tony smiles even as Steve forgets to pause the kiss. Because Tony’s mouth is just as smart and talented as Steve feared it would be. 

Steve moans his approval, or encouragement, he isn’t really bothered when the absence of Tony’s jacket allows him to run his fingers over toned flesh, muscle he never expected a self-privileged brat would be disciplined enough to break a sweat long and hard enough to attain.

He moans again when Tony’s tongue slides deeper into his mouth, battling his own. Tasting and exploring and introducing Steve to a hunger that he didn’t even know was manifesting in his entirety. 

And then Tony moans when Steve pushes back, depth dilated and cock hard, hand more adventurous when he manages to work it into Tony’s jeans. More dominant when his middle finger slips between Tony’s cheeks and the shorter man nearly breaks the skin on his back.

“If we keep at this,” Tony breathes against Steve’s neck, prying the other man’s hand out of his pants, “the credits are going to roll before we even turn the camera on.” 

Steve chuckles for a second, watching Tony walk back into the hotel before following him in on a heavy exhale. 

As Tony saunters over to the mini bar, Steve busies himself by shrugging out of his hoodie, tossing his cap aside and taking in the room more thoroughly. 

It’s nothing like anything he’s ever been in, windows going all the way up to the ceiling and unnecessary decorative pillars parting them, lodged in every corner too. It’s all gentle creams and impossibly white linen, the carpet posh enough to make its softness known through Steve’s socks when he toes off his shoes. Even with the high lamps slightly dimmed, Steve can make out the calculated swirls on the wall, crevices too deep to be wallpaper yet too distinctive to be stencil. 

The bed is larger than any Steve has ever seen, more round than square and the mirrored ceiling is only slightly less daunting than what’s perched on a heavy blackwood table facing the pillows. The lens cap is off but the device is not on, the lack of red light tells Steve this. The video camera’s presence itself tells Steve that Tony hadn’t been joking about actually making a sex tape at all. But all uncertainty evaporates when Tony’s arm comes around his waist, glass of scotch in hand, mouth hot against the back of Steve’s neck.

“Nice socks,” Tony practically purrs and Steve practically dies because he just had to have chosen that day to wear that ridiculous pair. One foot, blue with white stars and the other, white with red stripes. It’s the last time he ever keeps a birthday gift from Bucky. 

Steve takes the glass, immediately missing Tony’s warmth when the other man walks away, his own scotch in hand. He swallows his drink in one gulp as he watches Tony waste no time turning on the camera. Tony fiddles with it a little, only looking back at Steve when his haste causes him to cough twice, clearing his throat against the burn. 

“Camera shy?” Tony flashes a grin only slightly less menacing than the red light the camera suddenly offers. 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Mr. Harris,” Steve says lowly, realizing how painfully porno it sounds but loving the way it makes his boss’s eyes darken. 

“Do you wanna know what always puts me at ease,” Tony says before downing his drink with reprehensible professionalism and carelessly tossing the glass aside. He does the same with Steve’s tumbler and the blond man only has a second to be re-marveled by the softness of the carpet before he’s introduced the softness of the bed. He lands on his elbows, knees hooked over the edge and thighs slightly spread. 

For the first time ever, Steve actually finds himself self-conscious about the way he looks in such a situation solely due to the fact that it’s being documented. But, the way Tony tilts his head up ever so slightly and narrows his eyes, making his already thick, dark lashes seem almost too heavy for his eyelids as he looks Steve over. The way Tony makes a low, nearly inaudible noise that comes from his chest and deepens somewhere in his throat. The way Tony adjusts himself none too subtly as he turns and reaches for a remote control, all of that reassures Steve that his boss is more than pleased with his choice for the night. 

“By dropping the needle,” Tony answers his own earlier question that Steve had forgotten he’d asked and it really makes no sense to him and Stark presses a button and music fills the hotel room. 

It should be hilarious, and not just because Mr. Tony Stark of Stark Industries actually has Marvin Gaye’s album warm and ready on his hotel room stereo. It should be hilarious because not only does he have it, but he is also dancing to it. Steve should be in tears, itching for his phone to tell his best friend that Tony-fucking-Stark is lip-syncing and dancing along to what could easily be declared the most derivative song to use during foreplay. But the humor of it all is completely lost due to the explicit fact that the way Tony is moving his hips is hypnotically arousing. 

With his arms up just enough for Steve to make out every muscled curve of his triceps, the subtle way in which he rolls his hips draws attention to the definite outline of his hard cock, a site only made more delicious when Steve looks up to find Tony’s face a mask of pornographic meditation. Almost as if in Tony’s head, with his eyes squeezed shut, he and Steve are already fucking like two cellmates after lights out.

Then, as if at all possible, Steve feels himself get harder. Embarrassingly damp at the tip when Tony abandons his dance to straddle him. The act itself is mind-blowing enough, even without the thrill of craved contact Steve had no idea he so desperately needed. Even before Tony spreads his legs obscenely wide, thrusting filthily in a way that must be hurting Steve more than Tony’s elastic stunt. Because Steve has never felt such painful need for something he is already being given. Need for the tongue already tasting the inside of his mouth. Need for the feeling of Stark’s large hands on his skin, t-shirt bunching at the back of his neck reminding Steve that they have to find some sort of way to let go of each other long enough to strip.

It happens in one motion that’s far too poetic to be possible. The moment both their tops are bared, Tony flips them over. Tony’s back hits the mattress, Steve’s hands press into Tony’s above the shorter man’s head. Steve drags Tony higher so that his own knees can find purchase on the bed, Tony’s legs wrap around Steve’s waist. Steve wonders how it was accomplished without their lips parting. He cringes when he realizes Tony’s teeth sinking painfully into his bottom lip isn’t just a wanton accident. He opens his eyes when Tony won’t let go, only to find Tony not looking at him at all. 

Steve follows Tony’s eyes to the flashing red light on the blackwood table with his abused lip still between his boss’s teeth and something inside him snaps. As if painted with a fresh coat of fuck-me-now, Steve pulls away from Tony Stark, yanks his pants off seamlessly and tosses the annoying piece obstruction towards the camera. Purposely missing it by an inch. Smiling down at Tony when it slowly becomes clear to Stark that Steve is finally getting the picture. 

And the picture is titillating, Steven concedes as he slowly removes his own pants. It’s ferociously erotic by the sheer illicitness of the camera’s participation in what they’re doing. What Steve is about to do to Tony. What Steve will so eagerly turn around and let Tony do to him.

Steve feels his suddenly exposed cock throb when Tony’s eyes fix on it. Feels it leak when Tony spreads his legs wider, taking his own cock into a loose fist. Giving it a few distracted strokes before squeezing the base. As if he too realizes there is no way in hell that round one is going to last very long at all. 

Steve feels the little bit of perseverance he’d mustered to prolong the show disappear the moment Stark moves past his balls and reaches for his hole. Because Stark is a hardcore man of authority he has unimaginable power and uncountable riches, yet here is, wide-open and vulnerable, giving himself to Steve so certainly. 

Steve hears himself growl when Tony crawls back on his elbows the moment he has crawled forward enough for their chests to touch and their cocks to meet. He continues to crawl up the bed with his boss, never leaving the warm space between the Tony’s legs. He watches a stray bead of sweat slither down Tony’s temple as Tony reaches into the nightstand, eyes reflecting the same type of hunger Steve feels heavy in his balls. And Tony finds what he’s looking for without even sparing the transparent bottle or condoms a glance, too fixed on boring holes into every inch of Steve’s naked front. So intensely so that Steve even feels his shoulders blush seconds before Tony bites down on his trapezius muscle and wraps skilled fingers around his cock. 

“Let’s get it on,” Tony whispers and this time Steve does huff out a laugh. Because the music had been completely forgotten, blocked out by the blood rushing in Steve’s ears. And Steve is sure a line like that would certainly win them some sort of award in the Painfully Corny Gay Amateur Porn category. But all mirth quickly dies away when Tony gives Steve’s two sure stokes and says, “-open me up so we can get this in me already.” 

Steve moans into the desperate kiss that follows, hands shaky as he takes the proffered tube of lubricant and allows himself to be pushed back until he’s up on his knees. 

He frowns as Tony maneuvers himself onto his knees, sighs satisfyingly as he takes in the lovely curve of his boss’s ass, but refuses to do much else even as Tony bends readily for him. Steve knows what he wants and he has a strong feeling that Tony wants him take control. 

So instead, Steve shocks Tony by wrapping one strong arm around the dark haired man’s waist, and hauling him up against his chest. And at this angle, Steve’s cock lodges snuggly between the cleft of Stark’s ass. And he makes sure the arm around his waist is tight and predatory, as dominating as his hand that wraps around Tony’s cock. 

It seems to have the intended effect because the moan that comes out of Tony’s mouth when his head falls on Steve’s shoulder sounds like it should be sex’s international anthem.

“We’re doing things my way,” Steve barely recognizes his own voice as he kisses Tony at a very bad angle in a very good way, “I wanna see your face every single second I’m inside of you.” 

And Tony falls back with a grunt when Steve manhandles him back into their earlier position. And Steve has one hand on Tony’s chest, keeping him in place as he guides Tony’s leg over his shoulder, places a chaste kiss on the delicate skin of his boss’s ankle before pushing forward to do the same to Stark’s lips. And it’s gentle and affectionate, a little too warm; Steve realizes he isn’t the only one who noticed when Tony almost fixes in the face he reserves for anyone who’s stupid enough to walk into a boardroom meeting two minutes late. But it crumbles the second Steve’s finger pushes curiously against Tony’s puckered hole. Then that same finger comes up to trace Tony’s parted lips, the other man wasting little time sucking Steve’s middle finger in obscenely wetly. And Steve has to struggle to hold his composure when Tony sucks hard, one hand traveling up the contoured trail of muscle and settling on Steve’s already hard nipple. The other hand gripping Steve’s arm hard, short fingernails leaving bright red marks. 

“Keep your hands above your head or I’ll tie them to the headboard,” Steve orders darkly, because Steve’s nipples have always been embarrassingly sensitive and he would be horridly embarrassed if he came like this. Tony does as he’s told, not before giving the peak one last pinch as he lets Steve’s wet finger slide from his lips. 

When Steve pushes into Tony, Tony is far too tight to be teased any longer without actual lubricant. Steve assumes that Tony is most likely always on the pitching end of the game because he simply cannot picture his boss a virgin. The thought still excites him when he allows his mind to wander as he unfastens the cap of the tube and slicks his fingers with a considerable amount of the water-based substance. What if Tony really hasn’t ever bottomed for any other man before? What if Tony really hasn’t ever been with another man at all? What if Tony Stark, certified lady-killer, is a complete virgin in the art of man-on-man loving? 

The drawn out curse, the focused controlled breathing, the way Tony’s entrance rejects the intrusion has Steve thinking his assumptions just might be entirely accurate. 

Or maybe, Steve thinks, it’s still just all an act. Neil Patrick Harris, the stranger who he just met at the DVD store and is now entering is a bi-curious biker who is only just now, for the first time, giving into his curiosity. 

“Don’t fight me,” Steve encourages softly as a third finger joins his other two, “let me in. Look at me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tony unclenches his eyes and looks up at Steve past wet lashes, “There’s a first time for everything.” 

And Steve officially has no idea what to believe anymore, the cheesiness of Stark’s choice of words suddenly conflicting horribly with the sincerity in the man’s eyes. The shaky pleas as he reassures Steve that he’s ready. The way he accidently moans Steve’s real name through the initial stretch of Steve’s throbbing cock inside him. 

Steve aims for the prostate with every thrust as Tony’s moans transform from shocked pain to complete pleasure. He keeps them long and calculated until the heels of Tony’s feet start to dig painfully into his lower back in a nearly desperate pace. It’s all the confirmation Steve needs to throw caution to the wind and all the derogatory statements he’s ever made about how he wants to fuck the boss up, defrost into a molten, hot need to fuck the boss out. 

Steve reaches for Tony’s neglected, weeping cock, stroking the pent up pleasure out of him in four hard strokes. And if he thinks that watching Tony releasing his load between them is the hottest thing he’s ever seen, Steve is quickly corrected. Because Tony chooses that exact moment to grab hold of Steve’s jaw and force his head upward. 

Steve sees their reflection in the mirror, his cock sliding in and out of an entirely open, entirely wrecked, entirely too beautiful Tony Stark. Steve comes harder than he ever has before.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve wakes first, uncertain of the exact time but well aware that it’s Sunday morning due to the fact that the pair have already seen one sunrise before sharing one sunset.

Steve’s body protests, limbs tight and aching with those lovely type of battle wounds one signs up for when spending a solid day in bed with a raging nymphomaniac. 

Steve slips out of bed, slips on his clothes and slips the SD card out of the camera and into his pocket before making a silent escape. 

As Steve takes the early bus home, he smiles out the window, thrilled with himself for formulating such a brilliant plan.

As Steve sits in the boardroom for Stark Industries’ weekly Monday morning power meeting, he is scowling, kicking himself for formulating such a ludicrous plan. 

Because the second Mr. Stark walked into the building that morning, everything suddenly became far too real. 

In reality, Mr. Stark was no longer Neil Patrick Harris, the desperate, horny mix of submission and domination, a switch he’d been able to switch far too expertly at whim. The man who walked in was Steve’s boss, hardened face in scary Armani from head to toe. Eyes empty and posture reeking of infinite power. 

In reality, Mr. Stark was no longer staring into his eyes and holding him passionately. The man who walked in was downright ignoring him, changing course when their paths threatened to cross and holding up a finger with his ear pressed to the phone on the three occasions Steve had felt brave enough to deliver the meeting’s agenda personally. Steve had found himself even missing his Monday morning dose of hearing how incompetent he was. 

Even now as he sits in the boardroom and Bucky taps his thigh under the table, showing Steve a caricature of Mr. Stark being mauled by lions, all Steve can do is glare at his friend before returning his attention back to the boss. Because Tony has been looking directly at everyone but him and Tony has asked the room for suggestions only to deliberately talk over Steve when he is the only one willing to offer one and then Tony adjourns the meeting having discussed every point on the itinerary apart from the very valid one Steve had wanted to bring to attention regarding his department. 

In reality, Tony Stark is not simply just the boss anymore, Mr. Stark is also the man that Steve had sex with, showered with, shared plates and sipped bottles with. And he is certain that, to Tony Stark, Steve is just the jackass who walked out on him without saying goodbye, commandeering incriminating evidence that could destroy Stark’s empire in the process. 

After an entire day of feeling a whole lot less than nothing, Steve decides to do exactly what Tony Stark is doing, pretend that nothing ever happen in the hopes of them both somehow forgetting it ever did long enough for everything to go back to normal. 

And so, Steve is still seething when a sealed compact disk and an intimidatingly large book are placed on his desk exactly ten minutes before he’s about to pack up and head out for I hate Mondays drinks with the boys. 

“Could you be a darling and upgrade the entire floor’s PCs with the new software?” Stark says, sliding into a black Armani jacket that compliments his tailored waistcoat and does nothing to hide how perfectly the dress pants incase his thighs. Thighs that were wrapped around his waist for most of the weekend, Steve scolds himself for recalling. “And each tower needs to be individually encrypted and licensed with the twenty digit cryptogram that you’ll find I’ve so generously slipped into the back of the book for you,” Tony looks as though he deserves praise before adding, “- typed in teeny tiny, itty bitty font. It was far too complicated for me; pretty sure you’ll definitely have to read the manual.” 

Steve tries hard not to look over his boss’s shoulder, because Bucky is chopping Stark’s head with an imaginary axe in the next cubicle. 

“I’m sorry,” Stark straightens his collar, “do I have to speak slower, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head as if that will help clear it, “I won’t do it.” 

“What?” both Stark and Bucky say in perfect unison. Bucky manages to duck behind the barricade just as Mr. Stark turns to see why he suddenly has an echo.

When Stark looks back at Steve its equivalent to a look that one would give a man about to bungee jump with the safety harness attached to his penis. And Stark’s suddenly invested enough to examine the mental condition that he clearly thinks Steve is suffering from as he perches down on the edge of Steve’s desk, crossing his arms over his chest in his infamous, you-do-realize-this-means-you’re-fired stance.

Steve doesn’t care anymore.

Steve thought he wanted things to go back to normal, but quickly realizes that it never will. Tony had given up so much power to Steve and now he was going to spend the rest of his days reminding Steve who is always in control in the real world. Tony is going to break Steve if Steve does not man up and stick to his original plan. 

So, Steve very subtly opens his drawer, retrieves a compact disk of his own and pushes it towards his boss. 

“I took the liberty of speaking to some of those techy geeks earlier today,” Steve is unable to hold back his grin as Tony’s mouth drops slightly open, the dark haired man taking in the four simple words written in sharpie on the disk. “Apparently this is actually the new software we’ll be using. I can stay and load it onto everyone’s PCs right away if you still insist. I’ve got pleanty copies so it shouldn’t take too long.” 

“On second thoughts,” Tony straightens, sliding the disk labelled ‘Let’s Get It On’ into his jacket pocket. “Jack in IT can take care of it in the morning. Enjoy your evening Mr. Rogers” 

As Tony walks away, Steve wonders why he doesn’t feel satisfied that the balance in power has not only been restored, but has altogether shifted. And it’s weighing in his favor. The thought of no more victimization should feel magnificent. The idea of getting away with insubordination long enough for Tony Stark to know how it feels, to feel what he’s been putting up with, Steve should be basking in the glow of power he now has, the type Tony had tortured him with all this time. Steve will finally get the respect he deserves. 

But Steve thinks, perhaps, simple respect in the workplace isn’t the only thing that Steve has really wanted from Tony all along. 

“Perhaps,” Tony is suddenly back at Steve’s side. He clears his throat and tries again. “Perhaps you won’t mind staying a little bit longer to help me load it onto my computer. I do like having a head start with these things and I am just dying to see exactly how good it is.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” Steve nods, feeling a thrilling sort of warmth burst throughout his chest. Growing more when he notices a ghost of a smile touch Tony’s lips, lips that he’s been starving to taste ever since the last moment he was permitted to kiss them. 

“Let’s get it…done,” Stark turns on his overpriced heel and makes his way back to his office, paying next to no attention to the few employees brave enough to wish him a goodnight. 

And so the rumors aren’t entirely false. Stark really does have a pretty blond thing willing to do anything to help him unwind after a long day’s work. Steve will be pouring Tony a glass of his favorite scotch as they sit through their Painfully Corny Gay Amateur Porn production. And Steve will certainly be making a quick trip to the bathroom to make sure that when the movie is over, Tony finds no underwear under Steve’s dress pants. 

“What just happened?” Bucky hangs over the partition and Steve notices his friend is already all coated up and ready to bolt, just in case Stark comes back and makes him stay behind too – guilt by association. Stark has done it before. “You just said no to Stark and corrected him in less a minute. How are you not fired?” 

And all it takes is one look between Steve and the boss’s closed office door, and by the time Steve has shut down his station and their colleagues are clocking out, Bucky’s eyes are wide.

“You two are fucking, aren’t you?” Bucky is practically climbing over the partition in complete and utter delight, refusing to let Steve deny it. And Steve is lifting his friend’s briefcase, dutifully guiding him to the elevator as Bucky demands details incredibly loudly under his breath. Steve is unable to offer any more than a smile knowing full well that it is confession enough for his friend who is ominously gifted when it comes to the art of throbbing loins. And Steve does plan on filling Bucky in on it later because Steve has shared everything with Bucky since the night he made the biggest confession of his life. The confession that only made their friendship stronger, not end it like Steve had tortured himself into believing it would. 

But right now, Steve has a very important movie date with his boss, a movie starring Neil Patrick Harris and Sean William Scott. And when he enters Tony’s office to find Stark sitting on the black leather couch, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging loose, face lit solely by the light from the computer monitor and lips slightly wet from the scotch in his hand, Steve is ecstatic to be the first to know that the movie will most certainly be having a sequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this idea had been put on hold for a long time. It actually came to mind when I was a looot younger working part-time at a DVD store. The perks of such a job was the simple fact that if you landed the double shift (closing at night and opening in the morning) you were allowed to take as many movies/games/sitcoms as you wanted home with you (the downside to that was that I was usually half dead at work the next morning having spent all night playing PlayStation games and watching full seasons of everything. Anywho, one PAINFULLY SLOW night, literally minutes before closing, I went gay-movie-hunting (not porn – we didn’t have any of those). In my hands, I had the placement cards for All Over the Guy, Brokeback Mountain, Shelter and I was reading the summary of Mysterious Skin when in walks the owner (not the manager) to conduct his two minute random inspection just to make sure all is running smoothly (he had three branches in town) and his employees were happy (incredibly sweet man who also happened to be ‘Anderson-Cooper-sexy’). The entire time I was briefing him on the day’s progress, I was saying please don’t ask what I’m holding over and over again in my head. Then he finally slapped his hands together and said, ‘So, what will you be enjoying this evening?” And his smile sort of turned to confusion as he scanned through my selection. And my face went hot. And he sort of just said ‘oh’, before giving me the cards back, slapping my shoulder, and with the widest grin ever, he said, “enjoy.” I wasn’t entirely out then, but I wasn’t completely closeted either so my panic attack lasted only a minute. But I started thinking how hilarious it would have been if the store DID offer gay porn (any porn really) and I’d been found the same way. Then I laughed more thinking, what if that happens to someone who works at a major corporation and they look up only to find the CEO standing right beside them, doing the same thing. Then Stony came into my life and I thought, how perfect would it be if it happened to these two sexy bastards. And then in one sitting what I’d planned on making a really short story became 19 pages and now its late and I’m tired and I’m praying you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Goodnight Stony lovers, Over and out.


End file.
